


kiss your knuckles (and punch me in the face)

by Snap_crackle_spock



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Police, Alternate universe - Mafia, F/M, THIS WRITER HATES COPS BUT THEY'RE NECESSARY FOR THE PLOT, With a twist!, the obligatory Mafia!AU, undercover detective!Anakin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:21:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25073779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snap_crackle_spock/pseuds/Snap_crackle_spock
Summary: There were a lot of things that were light about Coruscant City. The flashes of anti-collision lights on the planes that soared high above the city’s skyline, sharp and aggressive in order to cut through the smog and darkness. The level of reverence with which people deferred to their money, in that way that screamed privilege because they would say they’d never actively participate in the capitalist hellscape they lived in but were still willing to spend $5 on a cup of coffee every morning.There were a lot of things that were dark, too. The apathy that clouded most people’s eyes the second they stepped onto the street, a mask laid on in order to keep strangers from talking to them. Most relevant to Anakin at the moment, though, was the room he was in, wide and echoing, made of concrete and sweat and dried blood from last week. It was in rooms like this that Anakin had been finding himself spending more and more time. They were spooky as shit, sure, but that made them an excellent location for the less glamorous activities he’d found himself getting involved with.-Obligatory Mafia!AU... with a twist!
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze (mentioned), Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 20
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Twin Size Mattress by the Front Bottoms, because apparently I️ know no other music. 
> 
> Rating for violence and language, M just to be safe but probably more like T.

There were a lot of things that were light about Coruscant City. The flashes of anti-collision lights on the planes that soared high above the city’s skyline, sharp and aggressive in order to cut through the smog and darkness. The level of reverence with which people deferred to their money, in that way that screamed privilege because they would say they’d never actively participate in the capitalist hellscape they lived in but were still willing to spend $5 on a cup of coffee every morning. The parks that were carefully placed between buildings so that the only place you could really look was up, and were given little to no shade by the small and sparse trees planted around the park’s borders. The neon signs that were on 24/7, beckoning weary travelers to come in with the promise of a nice sit-down meal and the backhanded deal of a steep bill. 

There were a lot of things that were dark, too. The briefcases that businessmen and women carried from one glass building to the other, containing secrets that the average person could only imagine and would never be privy to. The sidewalks lining the streets, dirty with years of heavy use and littered with wads of gum from anywhere between a day and a decade ago. The apathy that clouded most people’s eyes the second they stepped onto the street, a mask laid on in order to keep strangers from talking to them. 

Probably most relevant to Anakin at the moment, though, was the room he was in which was only lit by a single, flickering lightbulb. This was on purpose, of course. The room was wide and echoing, made of concrete and sweat and dried blood from last week. Under the city was a complicated subway system, one that had been under construction since the dawn of time, and for every tunnel that was operational (enough), there was another one that would never see half as much attention. It was in one of these neglected tunnels that Anakin had been finding himself spending more and more time in every day. They were spooky as shit, sure, but that made them an excellent location for the less glamorous activities he’d found himself getting involved with. This prime location was only amplified by that single lightbulb, turning it from an eerie but otherwise average space into one where each corner was concealed with shadow, as if something was waiting there that the light didn’t dare touch. Maybe there was. Anakin wouldn’t tell. 

There was a definitive  _ crack _ when he brought his fist down again, this time connecting with Hondo’s nose. It would be broken, for sure. Well, that wasn’t Anakin’s problem. He should’ve kept his mouth shut. 

“You broke my fucking nose!” The older man yelled, tipping his head back as far as he could in the high-backed wooden chair he was tied into. Old dogs can’t learn new tricks, apparently. 

With a level of force that was, using the kindest terminology, unnecessary, Anakin grabbed him by the nape of his neck and shoved his head forward instead. “Don’t tip your head back. Blood could run down your throat.”

“I’m glad you care!” Hondo yelled again before letting out a pained moan at the fast motions. 

“If you would just apologize, I’ll get you some ice,” Anakin said, unflinching at the display of pain and instead tightened his grip on Hondo’s neck. 

“I don’t need ice, I need to go to the  _ doctor!” _

“No,” Anakin squeezed his hand once more before coming in front of the man and crouching down so he could look him in his eyes, “what you need right now is ice to reduce the swelling and some ibuprofen. And I can promise you right now that you’re not getting either of those until I hear an apology.” 

He could see the consideration behind the gray eyes, the weighing of his pros and cons. But when he opened his mouth and Anakin smiled in anticipation of a round won, he was met with a bloody wad of spit that landed on his cheek. So that’s how they were playing it. 

With a careful patience that did not come naturally to Anakin but had been taught through years of training, he maintained eye contact as he wiped the spit away. Then, in a swift movement, he reached forward, grabbed Hondo’s already busted nose, and twisted. The man yelled again, somehow even louder this time, and Anakin waited a few more seconds before letting up and silently turning to go, leaving Hondo to the shadow corners. 

As he shut the old door, taking the moment of locking it to collect his thoughts and take a deep breath, he felt a presence whoosh up next to him. Before he could even react, the high and energetic voice of Ahsoka came through the quiet, stealing away the second of rest he’d just been sitting in. 

“You really let him have it, didn’t you?” she was grinning, and part of Anakin wanted to scold her for being happy at someone else’s pain. But that wouldn’t make a lick of sense, especially since he’d just broken Hondo’s nose  _ because _ of her. He almost asked how she knew what had happened, but then remembered that Rex was working the cameras tonight. He’d always had a soft spot for Ahsoka –everyone here did, really– so it was no stretch in logic to assume that he’d let her into the makeshift security office they’d set up to let her watch. 

“Well, you should run faster, next time. He wouldn’t be in there if you hadn’t gotten caught.” The Coruscant Republic (the fancy name they liked to call themselves because it sounded more legitimate than  _ the mob) _ had had a long-standing feud with the Coruscant Separatists (same situation. Different paint.) since the Separatists’ creation, a splinter faction of the Republic aimed at making a name all by themselves. Ahsoka, who was a kid, yes, but also a mascot of sorts for the Republic, was just another way that they’d tried to get quick leverage. According to Ahsoka, she’d just been walking back from school when Hondo, a smuggler who made his name in the city by working for both sides, had grabbed her and tried to bring her back to wherever the Separatists were lurking. Lucky for her, and very much  _ unlucky _ for Hondo, he’d severely underestimated how hard she could bite. 

“Go get me some ice,” Anakin grumbled as he started walking through the main tunnel. There were a handful of other people there, but for the most part, it was quiet. Though, the echoes off the stone could easily fool you on that. It was still pretty early in the night, especially in comparison to the hours that some of the others kept, and there weren’t any big gatherings planned for a while. Anakin had only come in for the special occasion. Besides, it’s not like this was the most populated one of the Republic’s bases. 

“I thought you were only giving him ice if he apologized,” she pouted, walking twice as fast in order to keep up with him. Distantly, he rolled his eyes at the pair they made. Her in her far-too-big hoodie and backpack and him with Hondo’s blood still on his face. 

“It’s for me, asshole,” he bit back. There was no malice in it, though. There never was with her. Everyone treated her with that same level of little sister-dom that allowed her to get away with anything short of murder and sometimes even that. “Believe it or not, punching someone hard enough to crack a bone hurts your hand, too. Ice reduces the swelling.”

She squinted as if evaluating whether or not getting him ice was worth her time, but eventually (and with an obnoxious roll of her eyes) groaned and twisted on her heels to head to the kitchen and get an ice pack. Not before throwing her backpack at him, a silent ask to carry it while she ran his errands. If the 14-year-old and the bloody, tattooed man were an odd pair, then the bloody, tattooed man and the pastel blue and pink backpack were an even odder one. 

He needed to get going soon. He had a conference call early the next morning and still needed to make dinner. Not to mention walking the dogs, who he already  _ knew _ were not going to be helpful about it. Still, he’d have to talk to Rex about watching Hondo for the night before leaving. Maybe get takeout on the way home. There was that Chinese place a few blocks from his apartment that would-

“Heads up!” was all the warning he got before a cloth-wrapped ice pack came sailing through the air and knocked him on his shoulder. At least he still had good enough reflexes to keep it from hitting the floor after. 

“You’re a little shit, you know that?” he asked Ahsoka, who came to walk beside him once more, still electing to let him carry her bag. When she beamed up at him, he returned her earlier exaggerated eye-roll and focused instead on pressing the already dripping pack onto his knuckles. They weren’t sore yet, but it wouldn’t be long. They’d probably bruise. 

“That’s why you like me so much,” she said, comically cool while she was forced to basically jog to keep up, “because you’re a little shit, too, and you’re also a narcissist.”

“Oh, did you get that word right on your spelling quiz?” He patronized, just to rile her up. 

“Oh, did you get your outfit out of the dumpster behind the cafeteria?”

“Good one.”

“Better than you!” 

With a quick movement, he took the damp cloth off the icepack and tossed it at her, where it landed directly across her face. She stopped in her tracks and he watched with more satisfaction than he really deserved for throwing a wet rag at a teenager when her fists balled at her sides and she carefully peeled the rag off. The condensation that had gathered from the icepack was evident, making her baby hairs stick to her forehead. 

“I was hot, anyway,” she pressed out, and at that point, he let out a full laugh. 

They kept walking, Anakin leading them in the direction of the security office, but this time in companionable silence. At least, until Ahsoka quickly piped up, “So where’d you learn all that medical stuff?”

“What?”

“Well, I was watching, and you were telling Hondo all that stuff about how to deal with a broken nose and you know how to deal with bruised knuckles or whatever. Where’d you learn it?”

He snatched the rag back from Ahsoka, wrapping the icepack once again and applying it to his knuckles. The purple was already starting to bloom under the intricate skeletal tattoo that extended up his forearm. Ahsoka had asked about that, once, too. He’d lied about that, once, too. 

“I was a Navy Seal a few years ago,” he decided on. 

“Bull _ shit,” _ she called him on it immediately. 

“Fine, my day job is as an EMT and I’m just here to cover my med school bill.”

“No way,” she laughed, “you’re not  _ nearly  _ smart enough to be a doctor.”

“Keep saying shit like that and I’ll give you to the Sep’s myself.”

“Ugh, that nickname makes me want to  _ barf,” _ she bemoaned as if she had any control over any of this. Maybe she did. Anakin never really did know why the Chancellor let her hang around so much. Beyond her occasional picking of important pockets, maybe she had some type of leverage over him that gave her the authority to call some of the shots. But Anakin knew that wasn’t true, because there was a very strong emphasis on nobody  _ ever _ having more power than the Chancellor. 

“Don’t you have a history test you need to study for or something?” He asked, which was his kind way of telling her to start heading home. It was getting late, and even though he knew she could handle herself he didn’t like the thought of her walking home in the dark. 

“Wolfe’s taking me home in a bit,” she shrugged, quietly mulling something over. Which was her way of signaling that she wanted something. “What’re you gonna do with Hondo?”

“We’ll keep him here for tonight,” Anakin said, planning heavily for Rex to agree to keep an eye on him. The bastard was slippery. “And if he doesn’t have anything nice to say tomorrow, then I’ll break something else.”

Ahsoka was just quiet for another minute. Maybe not wanting something. Maybe just nervous. 

“Hey,” he stopped and turned to face her, “even if he gets out, he’s not gonna fuck with you again. Not after I displaced his nose and you almost tore his hand off.” She seemed to smile a bit at that, resorting back into her usual electric self. 

When she held out her hands expectantly, he shrugged off her pastel backpack and she grabbed it, swinging it onto her back. As she turned to go, she quickly called over her shoulder, “See you ‘round,  _ Vader.” _

* * *

The first time Anakin had heard that name was from the Chancellor himself. After several rounds of what essentially amounted into interviews, he was taken to a fancy dinner in a car with dark tinted windows. He hadn’t known what to expect, only that the dress code was  _ black tie. _

When he’d given his name to the hostess at the front, he’d immediately been escorted to a table in the far back corner, secluded and quiet. There, waiting for him, was the quite infamous Chancellor. He’d only heard rumors up to that point, stories of the wise old man who ran the Republic with a gentle push and an iron fist. Still, it wasn’t what he’d been expecting. 

Growing up, mobsters all wore the same thing: an all-white suit with a fedora and a cigar hanging from their lips. They all had greased-back hair and  _ heavy _ Italian accents. Instead, sitting with a glass of white wine and looking through the menu, was a skinny old man in a clean-cut black suit with a maroon scarf. His pointed features and white hair didn’t scream  _ mob boss _ but rather  _ favorite grandpa. _

When Anakin arrived at the table, he simply stood up and shook the younger man’s hand, a smooth thing that seemed to hide much more strength than he was presenting. Anakin tried to keep his eye contact calm and nonthreatening. 

“Anakin,” the old man said as they said down, a waitress rushing over with two plates of salad. Anakin hadn’t even looked at a menu yet, but  _ fuck him _ if he wasn’t going to do everything he could to convince this guy that this was the best salad he’d ever had in his life. (For the record, he didn’t need to act that much. The salad was good.) “We don’t do last names, as I’m sure my associates have already informed you.”

“Yes.”

The Chancellor smiled at his brevity. Great. Now he’d just have to keep it up, not an easy feat for someone as outspoken as Anakin. 

“I’m sure they also told you that, should I choose to contact you further, you’ll be given a codename to further our anonymity. Discretion is very key, of course.”

“Of course.”

Another smile, this time as he picked up a fork to begin eating. Anakin took this as his cue to follow suit. Again, the salad really was excellent. 

“I hope you know I’m not looking for just another yes-man. I can find a million of those anywhere. I’m trying to build something long-lasting. That doesn’t limit my prospects. I want to know what you’d be introducing.”

This was the type of thing that could get his ass if he played his cards wrong. A balancing act of truth and omission. He’d never been great at balance before. 

“I’m trained with several types of firearms,” he said, hushed, “I can hold my own in a fight, and, most importantly, I’m great at mechanics. I’m not bragging when I say I’m the best from my hometown.”

“Hometown?”

“You couldn’t even find it on a map if you tried,” he brushed off cooly because  _ shitshitshit too much too fast  _ **_change the subject_ ** , “and I drive. Really well. Half the money I use to pay rent comes from street racing.”

The Chancellor raised his glass to his lips, not breaking eye contact with Anakin. Considering. 

“I can pay for mechanics and drivers easily,” he said as he put down his glass again, “ _ without _ putting them in the middle of my operations. Why would I need you?”

“Because they’re good, but I’m better.” New tactic. Not deferential, confident. He didn’t want a yes-man, he wouldn’t get one. “That’s a fact. You said you wanted to build something, well the foundations have to be strong and I promise I’m stronger.” 

The Chancellor seemed to smile at that then, without warning, quickly grabbed onto Anakin’s hands, his fork falling onto the plate with a clatter. The intensity behind the old man’s eyes as he looked into Anakin’s was indescribable, something powerful at play. He’d been warned ahead of time that this would happen. Beyond interviews and promises, the last test for anyone who was brought into the Republic was their leader’s instincts. He was known for having an inane sense of people, and even the most well-spoken and charismatic types were turned away for failing. 

With one final squeeze of his hands, the Chancellor pulled back on his smile and moved to get up. Anakin started to follow, only for him to hold out his hand and still him. 

“No, you stay. Enjoy your meal. My treat. We’ll be in contact soon…” he considered for a second before deciding on, “ _ Vader, _ I think.”

With that, he turned and leisurely made his way to the front door, and at every other table, somebody got up to accompany him. 

* * *

The Chinese place, it turns out, had a  _ very _ long line. One that, realistically, took longer than it would have to just cook the meal himself. But Anakin was godawful at cooking, and if standing in a 30-minute line to get overpriced lo mein was what it took to keep him from turning on the stove, maybe it was just better for everyone. 

When he finally got back to his apartment, a mid-range thing not quite crumby enough to warrant complaints but definitely not nice enough to warrant praise, he was gifted exactly one second of peace as he let the door click shut behind him. One second to breathe and let the events of the day roll off him. Water off a duck’s back, or something like that. 

Then he heard the unmistakable sound of a footstep on tile. Someone was in his kitchen. There was no hesitancy in the way he dropped the plastic bag full of takeout, which had gone from being a prize worth the $30 he’d paid for it to the last thing on his list of cares in the blink of an eye. This was the sort of thing he’d trained for over the course of years. At this point, it was second nature. 

He should’ve known that it was only a matter of time until someone figured out where he lived. The Republic had a very strict no name, personal history,  _ anything _ that can be used against you rule, but that’s not something that the Seps would follow if given the chance. He should’ve been paying more attention. Maybe someone had followed him home one day and he hadn’t even noticed. 

Or maybe this was someone working for the Chancellor. That wasn’t exactly impossible. A traitor to the family always warranted a harsher punishment than a regular foe. 

What else did they know? That was the really scary thought. If they knew where he lived, what else had they pieced together? His family? His friends? He  _ had _ to make it out of whatever fight was about to happen, if not for his sake then for theirs. 

All of these thoughts flew through his head in a matter of seconds –this situation had played through his head a million different times during his time with the Republic– and by the time they’d made the rounds he had the gun he kept on the table next to his door drawn. He didn’t like using it, had been trained to rely on it only as a last resort, but he also knew how to use it. And if it meant the difference between his loved ones living or dying, then yeah. He’d use it. 

“Who’s there?” He called, using the loud and uncompromising voice he’d been trained to use in these sorts of situations. The one that he put on every time he descended the steps to the underbelly of the city and drew on the metaphorical mask that he convinced himself was enough to separate the part of him that didn’t feel bad about beating up a defenseless man and the part of him that knew that this wasn’t normal. 

The footsteps came again, rounding the corner from where his kitchen was and coming into the light of the small entry hall, where the flickering lightbulb he kept forgetting to replace gave the moment a little bit too much of the someone’s-about-to-die ambiance. 

The second the figure rounded the corner, Anakin’s shoulders sagged with relief, and then joy. Carefully, he flipped the safety back on, and laid the gun on the small table that housed his keys and a handful of letters he hadn’t opened yet. You know. The normal things. 

“You scared the shit out of me, Padme.”

Padme Amidala smiled to herself as she leaned against the wall, a mixing bowl of  _ something _ resting on her hip. In the lackluster lighting, her hair sparkled. Normally, she had it tightly pulled back in intricate twists or tight buns, but now it was let loose in all it’s curly, voluminous glory. He loved it like this most, because he was one of the few people she didn’t pull the pretense of order and neatness over. 

“I hope that’s not takeout you just dropped, because I’m cooking.”

She wasn’t even phased. God, he loved her. 

With a resigned sigh, he made his way over to her and twisted his arms around her waist. She leaned into his grip happily, pressing a chaste kiss onto his cheek before stepping back and nodding her head to the plastic bag, abandoned by the door, and arching a thin eyebrow. 

He shrugged, taking a more defensive stance, “I didn’t know you were coming back tonight. If you’d sent me a  _ text _ or maybe a  _ call _ I wouldn’t have gotten dinner or pointed a  _ gun _ at you. I thought someone broke into the apartment.”

“My meetings in Mandalore got cut short,” Padme hummed, “Satine had some stuff to deal with at one of the elementary schools.”

“I could’ve hurt you,” Anakin responded, real fear coloring his voice. If something else had happened… If he wouldn’t have waited those extra moments for her to fully round the corner… If he would’ve shot first and asked questions later. He would’ve never forgiven himself if something had happened to her.  _ Especially _ if it was his fault. 

She came up to him, pressing another kiss to his other cheek, whispering, “But I know you would never do that,” before heading back into the kitchen and causing the stove to make an aggressive number of beeps. When he turned to grab his bag of takeout that would apparently be tomorrow’s lunch, he heard her call out, “Better set the table quickly. Dinner’s in ten minutes, Detective Skywalker.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " Coming back to the present, she ran her hands through Anakin’s hair one more time. “Really, though. You should take a shower before your meeting with Obi-Wan. Wouldn’t want to come off as unprofessional in front of the boss.”
> 
> Anakin groaned at the looming threat of the meeting. He was supposed to check in twice a week to keep everyone updated, both with anything that could be potentially useful as well as a general safety check. “He’s not my boss, he’s my partner. There’s a difference.”
> 
> “Yeah,” she leaned forward, resting her chin on his chest, “but still. I don’t think teen-punk-chic is going to fly if the captain drops in on the call like he did last time.” "

Anakin had met Padme Amidala on the battlefield. Both his and hers. 

For Padme, that meant at the Coruscant Capitol Building, which lived in the very heart of the city. It had meant during a heated debate about trade policy, where she’d been vehemently advocating for the removal of a third party when trading between states, specifically in the case of her home state of Naboo. She’d filibustered for hours while her team had worked to find some loophole in the legal documents that proved they were being held in a monopolistic stronghold. 

For Anakin, that meant being bored out of his mind, sure that he’d been stuck with the lowest spot on the totem pole just because he was a fresh transfer to the C.C.P.D. until he’d realized that an hour had passed and Padme was still talking as passionately as when she’d started, and so he decided he might as well listen and learn something while he was stuck as a glorified babysitter for the youngest, most controversial state senator that this building had seen in a decade. And then, later, it meant pushing her away from the opened door of the town car, the one that he’d been holding open for her. Because he’d heard the faintest ticking, and he’d been able to react  _ just _ quick enough to get her out of the way before the engine of the car exploded. It meant saving her life. 

Hours later, after the rest of the Coruscant City Police Department had come to make sure there were no more explosives on the premise and to question all the witnesses, Padme had approached him, the silver shock blanket that she didn’t seem to need at all draped loosely over her shoulders. 

She’d thanked him, and asked him if she could take him out for drinks to show her gratitude. Any place he liked, on her. 

Sheepishly, he’d had to admit that he was still incredibly new to the city, to the point that half of the boxes in the loft he was renting out hadn’t even been unpacked yet, so he didn’t exactly know any of the bars in the area. 

She’d just taken it as a challenge, a gleam in her eye, and promised to show him the highlights. 

She’d called them an Uber once he’d been dismissed for the night, and she pointed to a handful of places as they drove around.  _ That one’s pretty good, but only if you’re willing to put up with the assistant manager playing his kid’s album through the speakers every few songs. That one has pretty cheap drinks, but tonight’s open mic night and you don’t seem like the kind of guy who’s interested in hearing some grad student’s unfinished standup set. I like that one, but their whole thing is having great backdrops for influencers, so I feel like it’s unfair to start you at that one.  _

She’d continued listing the seemingly endless number of bars and clubs just on Main Street, and Anakin had begun feeling overwhelmed even before they’d gotten into the car. Before transferring, he’d only ever lived in Tatooine. Hadn’t even  _ traveled _ . Which meant that he’d  _ only _ ever been to one bar in his life, succinctly named  _ The Cantina. _ It played the same song on the hour every hour, had the same patrons every time he’d gone in, and sold exactly 5 different drinks: beer, expensive beer, tequila shots, vodka tonic, and something that he’d never be able to pronounce the name of that smoked when they served it. 

By the 30th place she’d listed, Anakin just mumbled to himself  _ I honestly don’t feel like going out after what just happened.  _

He’d looked at her, an apology ready on the tip of his tongue because he hadn’t meant to be rude or anything and she was so nice, but she was just smiling at him. 

_ My apartment’s just a few blocks over. I’ve got a pretty extensive liquor cabinet if you’d prefer to just stay in.  _

Anakin wasn’t… unaware that he was a good looking kid. His mother had reminded him of what a handsome young boy he was all throughout his middle and high school years. And by the time he’d graduated to the force he’d had dinner or coffee or some variation with just about 3/4 of the population of Tatooine that was anywhere near his age. So… yeah. He was well aware of the fact that he was a solid 7.5. 

But that was Tatooine standards. Tatooine, where the kids that you went to preschool with were the ones you graduated with. Where there was one bar, one fancy restaurant, one diner, and one movie theatre that was always showing something from at least three months ago. Hell, there was still a  _ Blockbuster _ operating in Tatooine. 

Padme, this woman who he’d been charged with keeping safe, was a 10 by  _ any _ standard. Not just because she was gorgeous and dressed better than he could ever hope to imitate and had her hair tied up with golden tinsel that made it sparkle when she moved, but because he’d just watched her talk for four hours about  _ interstate commerce _ and had a reputation of never sugarcoating her opinion and had just survived an assassination attempt and immediately asked if he wanted to go out for drinks. 

In every sense of the word, she amazed him. 

So when he said  _ are you sure? _ it wasn’t because he didn’t want to (trust: he really  _ really  _ wanted to), it was because he couldn’t  _ fathom _ what a gorgeous politician who could stay cool after such a blatant threat on her life could see in some small-town punk who was new in town and couldn’t name a single bar in the whole city to save is life. 

_ I try to never doubt myself, Detective Skywalker. It’ll only ever give my opponent the advantage.  _

It turns out that drinks at Padme’s meant far, far more than a quick glass of whatever was on hand and another thank you. It entailed being dropped off at a building fancier than any Anakin had ever seen, riding in an entirely glass elevator to one of the higher levels, where Padme showed him the way to her modest but clearly affluent apartment. The evidence of wealth didn’t come from stone pillars or indoor fountains or whatever else Anakin would’ve pictured as a child, but from a cohesive and neutral color scheme, furniture that didn’t wobble when you sat on it, and art that was tastefully leaning against the wall instead of hung. Drinks with Padme involved her pulling out a seat at the breakfast bar that separated her gorgeous kitchen and her gorgeous living room, while she reached into what looked like a minifridge but only housed glass bottles. 

After selecting a bottle of wine that he couldn’t pronounce the name of and two glasses from a cabinet, Padme set to work quizzing him about his life story. 

_ Nothing special. Small town, dad left, and I wanted to do some good.  _

_ So you always wanted to be a police officer? _

_ No, _ he’d laughed, _ at first I’d wanted to be in the air force because I thought flying seemed fun.  _

When he asked her the same question, she’d given a similarly nonchalant response. 

_ Country girl, grew up around wealth which I know is a taboo thing for a politician to say. But it means I know how they work, and I know what needs to change to make things better for people who weren’t born lucky.  _

Every time she talked, no matter what it was about, Anakin fell more in love. It was a hard and fast thing, how enamored he became with senator Padme Amidala. And, for some reason, she seemed equally as enraptured by him. They went through another bottle of wine, one that probably cost more than what he’d make in a month, and by the time he’d even bothered to look at the clock, it was 4 A.M., which meant that he had to be at work in a matter of hours. 

_ I should get going… I’ve got work today and I should probably sleep between now and then… _

_ You could always just spend the night here.  _

Maybe he should’ve been hesitant, considering Padme was an important politician who he’d probably have to work with again. There was a phrase about work and life not mixing well humming in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember what it was, because suddenly Padme was standing up and she looked nothing short of angelic. At some point they’d moved from the breakfast bar to her plush rug, and as she stood he was forced to tip his head back to look at her, the overhead lights perfectly positioning themselves behind her head to create a warm halo.

As she extended a hand to him, an offering, he was suddenly made aware that he would never be able to deny her. 

As he followed her lead towards her bedroom, as tastefully beautiful as everything else in her apartment, he couldn’t help but be drawn in by the sudden shyness that fell over her. For all her bravado, for all the eagerness and witty banter she’d provided the whole evening, she let him make the next move. 

As he kissed her for the first time, he thought that maybe this had always been destined. 

In the end, he only got three hours of sleep before he had to be out the door. She’d woken up before him, given him toast and bacon on a paper napkin to go, and kissed him sweetly as he went through the door. If anyone noticed that he slipped into the locker room in the clothes he’d worn the day before and emerged in the more ill-fitting backups he’d left at the precinct, they didn’t say a word. 

Though, that could just have been a testament to how little attention people paid the rookie. For once, Anakin didn’t mind. 

He’d thought that, maybe, it would be nothing more. It was a disappointing thought, but one he could live with. Padme didn’t seem like the type of person who would let personal matters get in the way of business, so he didn’t think it would impact any sort of instances where they’d meet again. She’d been nothing but lovely and sweet and kind, and if he kicked himself at his desk for realizing that he hadn’t even given her his number, then that was his business. At least he knew that there would be no angry letter written to the commissioner over his unprofessional behavior. 

He expected things to go back to a relative sense of normalcy, even if he’d probably be hung up on the spitfire senator who’d almost died yesterday for (feasibly) the rest of his life. 

You can imagine his surprise when he was packing up his things at the end of the day, and he realized that the paper napkin Padme had given him was still on his desk, forgotten in the chaos of the day. In a moment of embarrassing sentimentality, he picked it up to take one last look at it before throwing it away, only to see a small blue squiggle in the corner that, upon further inspection, showed itself to be a phone number. 

They went out for drinks (properly out to a real bar and everything) that Friday, and each Friday after. 

And to think, in the end, it only took a second near-death experience to give Anakin the courage to finally propose. 

(Spoiler alert: she said yes.)

* * *

“Your hair’s a mess,” was the super sweet and helpful and loving comment Padme mumbled drowsily into his ear the next morning. There weren’t a lot of things that were glamorous about the life Anakin had been leading for the past month or so (routinely going beneath the city to break bones, interacting with criminals as if it was no big deal, having the knowledge that at any moment any one of them could find out who he really was and kill him for it) but at least he got to sleep in. Before he went undercover, back when he was still new to the C.C.P.D. and was given some of the worst hours because of it, he’d regularly been waking up even before the morning rush hour, just to be at his desk on time. 

Now, because pretending to be a devoted part of the Coruscant criminal empire required pulling late hours, he was granted the minimal courtesy of being allowed to sleep in. And, on the rare occasion that Padme was both in town and had the day off, she was right there with him when he woke. 

With a deep heave, he shifted onto his side to look to where she was already propped up on her elbow, the sunbeams pouring in through the window giving her that halo that always seemed to appear. An angel who hasn’t fallen, but chose to walk among men. 

“You don’t like it?” He asked, quirking a lazy brow. When he’d been put on this assignment (mostly due to his good reputation from the Tatooine precinct, but also because he had  _ just _ transferred to the city, meaning that there was a far smaller chance that someone in Coruscant would recognize him as a cop), they’d asked him to grow out his hair from the short length that was standard among detectives. Over the weeks of prep time, the seemingly endless number of interviews he’d gone through to actually meet with the Chancellor, and the following month and a half of working with the Republic, it had grown longer than he’d ever had it. 

“No, it’s not that,” she hummed, reaching out to twist a lock between her thumb and pointer finger, “it’s just different. The tattoos really add to it. If you had a nose ring, you’d be the exact kind of person my dad told me to stay away from back in high school.”

“I didn’t realize Naboo had a goth subculture. Last time we went I thought it was just granola and farmer’s market-brand people.”

She shrugged a bit, moving her hand down his arm to lace her fingers through his. “Not many, but there’s no such thing as an entirely homogenous city,” she looked up at him again, “don’t tell my parents, but I may or may not have broken into a few foreclosed houses with one of these delinquents back as a teenager.”

“Oh?” he smirked, “So you have a type?”

She chuckled at that, a bit airy as she was lost in thought, “trust me, you don’t want to be categorized with him. He was the kind of guy that brought a guitar to every party he went to just in hopes of someone asking him to play Wonderwall.” Coming back to the present, she ran her hands through Anakin’s hair one more time. “Really, though. You should take a shower before your meeting with Obi-Wan. Wouldn’t want to come off as unprofessional in front of the boss.”

Anakin groaned at the looming threat of the meeting. He was supposed to check in twice a week to keep everyone updated, both with anything that could be potentially useful as well as a general safety check. “He’s not my  _ boss, _ he’s my partner. There’s a difference.”

“Yeah,” she leaned forward, resting her chin on his chest, “but still. I don’t think teen-punk-chic is going to fly if the captain drops in on the call like he did last time.”

“Don’t remind me.” The C.C.P.D. captain, Yoda, was a tiny, cryptic old man who spoke through heavy metaphors and always ended a sentence with  _ hrmm? _ Between the detectives, there was an active betting pool on each and every aspect of their captain’s life, from his age (still undiscovered) to what city his family was from (Anakin had heavy money on him having been  _ literally _ raised by animals in the forest) to who his favorites were (each detective had bet on themselves, except for Vos, who had begrudgingly put down money on Obi-Wan). For some reason, though, the public  _ loved _ him, whether it was due to his constantly heartfelt apologies to the families of any victims or the nearly quadruple-digit list of solved cases he had under his belt. Anakin had an intense respect for the captain, but  _ god _ he hated talking to him. 

With one last squeeze of his hand, Padme twisted and hauled herself out of the bed, gently lobbing one of the pillows at him. “Take a shower. I’ll make breakfast.”

As she walked over to the dresser to fish out a sweatshirt, Anakin pursed his lips. “The nobs are so finicky,” he looked at her again, “maybe… I could get an extra set of hands to help me with that?”

She turned and grinned coyly, before abandoning her search for an outer layer and making her way to the bathroom. When Anakin heard the spray of the showerhead start up, he quickly sprinted to follow her. 

* * *

Half an hour later, Anakin was standing in front of the toaster, waiting for his bread to pop up, and desperately trying to tie his hair up in a way that would keep the back of his shirt from getting soaked throughout his call. 

“This is why you don’t leave things until the last minute,” Padme teased, merciless from her throne (the swivel chair in front of their shared desk). While she was clicking through a document one of her staffers had sent over, somehow fully dressed (including hair and makeup)  _ and _ having made a photo-worthy piece of artisanal toast, Anakin was busy praying that Kenobi wouldn’t be  _ too  _ unforgiving at his tardiness. 

By the time his toast popped out of the slot (somehow charred despite having been put on the lowest setting) and he landed on his couch where his laptop was waiting, Obi-Wan had already sent three emails asking where Anakin was. Which, honestly, was unfair. He was  _ five minutes _ late. 

As he pulled open FaceTime, trying to eat the burnt toast as fast as he could in order to avoid the lecture on  _ so this is why you were late? Poorly made bread? _ Padme rested her chin on her fist, watching with amusement as Anakin struggled to work from home. 

Obi-Wan picked up on the second ring. He was at the station, in the break room with headphones and a completely unamused expression. Behind him, Anakin could see Secura chatting with one of the beat cops (Lucky? Cameron? They all looked the same in uniform.). 

“Say hi to Aayla for me?”

“You’re late.”

From the desk, Padme flashed thumbs up and silently mouthed  _ great start, babe. _

“Five minutes isn’t late. It’s tardy, at best,” Anakin argued even though he was wrong and crunched down on the last bite of his toast. It tasted… well, it tasted like defeat if he was quite honest. 

“I don’t think you understand the level of severity in this situation,” Obi-Wan said into the little built-in microphone, “Anakin I was  _ that _ close to calling the captain in. I thought something had happened. You can imagine the type of stress this is putting us all under.”

For a second, Anakin wanted to fire back. He wanted to point out that,  _ actually, _ Obi-Wan couldn’t understand the stress  _ he _ was under. Obi-Wan wasn’t the one that was literally walking among criminals almost every day, wasn’t the one that had rearranged a guy’s face for not apologizing.  _ He _ wasn’t the one putting himself directly into the line of fire, risking not only his own skin but his fiance’s and friends’ lives. 

But Anakin had heard enough lectures back in Tatooine about how he needed to learn how to control his temper, and he knew that if they took him off this case now it could be months before someone else got as far as he had. So he bit his tongue. 

“I’m sorry, Obi-Wan,” he said finally, “I didn’t mean to worry you. I just slept in a bit ‘s all.”

From off to the side, Padme snorted at the white lie. 

After a second, Anakin’s partner just sighed and smiled tightly to the camera. “It’s fine. Just don’t be late again.” And then, after a second, “and, for the millionth time,  _ please _ just call me Ben.”

Just like that, they eased back into their more comfortable banter that had developed before Anakin went undercover. 

“Thanks for the offer, Obi-Wan,” he said with a smug grin, “but I prefer to use your god-given name, actually.”

“God didn’t give me that name. Two strangers did and then decided it would be even funnier to leave me to deal with the consequences alone.”

“Wow, someone’s bitter.”

“The caffeine hasn’t quite hit yet, unfortunately,” he said, holding up his travel mug to emphasize the point. 

“Your age is showing, Kenobi. Next, you’re gonna tell me about how much you hate Mondays and adulting.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” the older man brushed a hand through his hair, right where the gray was starting to edge in at the temples. Anakin couldn’t remember if it had been there before he’d begun working this case or not. 

“Tell Ben that Satine says hi,” Padme called, back to digging through her documents. 

“Padme says that Satine says hi,” Anakin repeated dutifully. 

“So I’ve heard,” Obi-Wan chuckled, “Hello, Padme. I didn’t realize you were joining us.”

She just waved vaguely towards the screen, despite it not being angled in a way that Obi-Wan could’ve seen the motion. Anakin figured that he got the idea, though. 

“So what’ve I missed?” Anakin asked, reaching forward to grab the mug of coffee Padme had left for him. The mug was one of those Starbucks ones, the  _ you’ve been here! _ collection that just proved that people were willing to pay $12.99 to show family members ceramic proof of their travels. Padme had picked up the habit of grabbing one everywhere her job took her, and it had gotten to the point that they couldn’t keep all of them in the slim cabinets. 

Obi-Wan began prattling off some tale of Vos, one of his least favorite detectives and one of Anakin’s closest friends at the station, attempting to get some information out of a witness, only to find out it was his brother-in-law. 

“He didn’t recognize the guy?” Anakin laughed.

“I mean, would  _ you _ invite him to your wedding?” Obi-Wan asked with an arched brow. 

From somewhere off the screen, a faint “I heard that, Kenobi!” could be heard. 

Their conversation continued in a similar manner, comforting enough that for a moment Anakin could forget that hours ago he’d broken a man’s nose for not apologizing. He could disregard the fact that he was actively working against all his most core beliefs. That he would be going back to do it again that night, and the next, and the next. 

They talked for another 10 minutes before a pointed “ahem,” from off Obi-Wan’s screen caused the conversation to die in an anticlimax. Anakin had heard about glares like daggers, but Lieutenant Mace Windu had mastered the art of coughs that could kill. There was no faster way to sap the joy out of a room than to hear one of Windu’s infamous throat clearings, the universal sign to shut the fuck up and get back to work. 

“I take it you’re not hogging the station’s wifi that’s paid for with our taxpayer’s hard-earned money for a phone call that could’ve taken five minutes, right?” the lieutenant’s disembodied voice asked as he walked into frame, his arms crossed and an unimpressed look already on his face. Silently, Obi-Wan unplugged the earbuds so that Mace could hear as well. 

“Lieutenant,” Anakin greeted, his asshole zipping shut at the sight. He was only technically going to work for half an hour twice a week and he  _ still _ found a way to piss off his boss. That had to be some kind of record. 

“Detective,” Windu greeted in kind, though coming from his mouth it just sounded so much more… resigned. So much  _ less _ interested in whatever else Anakin was going to say. “I hope I wasn’t interrupting you giving any important information to Detective Kenobi. Though, I’m  _ sure _ all of that information has already been passed seeing as this call started,” he checked his watch, “nearly fifteen minutes ago.”

“Of course, I was just getting to that,” Anakin nodded, and off to the side, Padme gave him another mocking thumbs up. 

Windu looked unconvinced. Instead of leaving Obi-Wan and Anakin to it, he settled into his position behind Kenobi’s chair, his face unchanging in its lack of faith. “You do realize that this is one of the most important assignments you’ll be on in your life, right?”

“I’m aware.” Anakin could feel his patience waning. 

“And that the threat of retaliation from the Republic should they find out who you are is like the Sword of Damocles hanging over this  _ entire _ precinct-”

“Yeah, I know-”

“And what you’re doing can mean the difference between life and death for multiple people?”

“Yeah,” Anakin snapped, “I get it.” He’d always had a temper, his mother could attest to that. And most of the time he could handle it. Months of training to become an officer and years at the Tatooine precinct had helped him keep his cool in most situations. You couldn’t afford to have a short fuse in his line of work. But something about Lieutenant Windu always managed to undo years of work in seconds. He was working on it, he swears. 

Between Mace and the screen, Obi-Wan was stiff as aboard. Anakin didn’t even remember him blinking the entire exchange. He was good at dealing with authority figures, especially if that meant knowing when to shut up. They were a good team in that way, that was the reason that Qui-Gon had specifically requested Anakin be partnered with Obi-Wan when he’d signed the final forms to transfer him from Tatooine. 

Lieutenant Windu just placed his head into his palm and took a deep breath before looking back at the camera. “Skywalker, please just get on with it. I know you know this is important, but the timing is crucial right now. We have sources inside the Separatists that are talking about making an aggressive move on Republic territory, and if we can avoid all out gang warfare that would be  _ ideal.” _

“Sources?” Anakin asked, “I thought I was your source. Wasn’t that the  _ whole _ point?”

“Well, then why don’t you prove my desire for contingency plans wrong and actually tell us something useful?”

He was about to bite back something that, honestly, could’ve gotten him suspended, but for a split second he caught eyes with Obi-Wan who gave the subtlest of  _ please just do what he says _ looks, and suddenly Anakin felt himself come back down to Earth. 

This was what he was doing all of this for. This is why he risked his life every day. Right. What could he even tell them?

Not much of anything had happened since his last call with Obi-Wan. For all the dangers of running with criminals, it could get remarkably dull. They knew locations, codenames, all the stuff Anakin could’ve given them in the first week. But what they needed was a way in. Some angle to get someone to testify, something that could prove their case in an actual courtroom. But it wasn’t like people were exactly walking up to Anakin and begging him to join them in betraying the Republic. Honestly, the most noteworthy thing that had happened since he’d last spoken to them was-

“Hondo.” He said simply, the gears beginning to turn in his head. From her swivel chair, Padme spun to face him, always intrigued when Detective Skywalker came to replace Ani. 

“Hondo?” Obi-Wan questioned, leaning forward to type something into another window on his computer. “Hondo Ohnaka?” 

“Yeah,” Anakin nodded, resting his elbows on his knees and thinking. 

“Who’s Ohnaka?” Windu asked, bending over the back of Obi-Wan’s chair to inspect the file the detective pulled up on the screen. 

“Some low-level criminal,” Obi-Wan read, “no formal ties with either organization. He’s in the system for a handful of caught drug deals, a few cases of illegal firearms distribution. Why do you bring him up, Anakin?”

“He attempted the abduction of a minor,” Anakin responded, “that’s about a year in prison by itself.”

“Yes, but do you have any  _ proof, _ ” Windu urged, hammering it in once again. It wasn’t enough to just  _ know. _ Innocent until proven guilty, and all of that. 

“Yeah,” Anakin nodded, “I know the kid.”

The two on the other side of the camera looked at each other, Obi-Wan shrugging his shoulders in support. Hesitantly, though, Windu looked back at the camera. “Would they testify?”

No. Not even a little bit. Not only would Ahsoka never admit to being the victim of an attempted kidnapping, even if she got out of it, for her father’s sake, but she would never trust Anakin again if she got involved. When things eventually played themselves out, she was one of the people he was counting on to stay loyal to him. He couldn’t throw that testimony out the window for a chance at incriminating Ohnaka. 

“No, she wouldn’t.” Obi-Wan and Windu’s faces both fell in sync with each other’s. “But,” Anakin added, “he doesn’t know that.”

With that, Anakin watched as Mace and Obi-Wan caught up to him, and more distantly, Padme’s eyes widened with anticipation for the final puzzle piece. 

“So…” Obi-Wan started, “you’re suggesting we arrest him for attempted kidnapping under the guise of her testimony against him and then, say, offer him a deal in exchange for his testimony against the Republic.”

“Yeah,” Anakin nodded, actually proud of the idea, “trust me, Kenobi, he’s got  _ no _ loyalty to either side. I’m pretty sure he’d sell his own family down the river to keep himself safe.” 

“Well,” Windu said,  _ finally _ looking impressed, “let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. We’ll contact you later with more details.” And, without any more preamble, he reached to the mousepad and ended the call. 

There was a moment of silence as Anakin shut the laptop, then from his left, the comet that was Padme crashed into him, enveloping him in her arms and pressing a kiss to his cheek. From her sheer force, he ended up falling onto his side, with her on her forearms above him, beaming down. Halo lit. 

“You were brilliant, Ani,” she grinned, and pride swelled in his chest at her praise. 

“I think Windu just wanted to get me off the call as fast as possible so he took the first idea I had and ran with it.”

“Still,” she set herself down so she was laying on top of him, her chin pillowed on her arms, “I think it was very impressive and we should celebrate.”

“I’m not really supposed to be out and about in public, especially with people I know,” he hummed, though the idea of a celebratory meal sounded  _ so _ good at the moment. And, from her face, he could see that Padme knew exactly where his head was at.  _ “But… _ If two strangers happened to bump into each other during happy hour… then what reason would anyone have to be suspicious?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, the next update's probably not going to be for a fair bit


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " The next fifteen minutes passed in a blur. From the car, he heard the woman explain the course and the prize, then do a long and drawn-out performance of raising the make-shift flag above her head in preparation for the drop. During this time, Anakin thought of all the reasons that he shouldn’t be doing this. The danger, the fact that he could lose his job, the way that everyone watching seemed to be itching to see him fail. 
> 
> But then he thought about how it was the middle of the night and he didn’t feel tired in the slightest. He thought about the tight coils of anticipation that were sitting in his stomach. He realized this was probably the closest he was ever going to get to flying. "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I️ can't believe I️ finally figured out a reoccurring chapter structure that I️ actually like... Blame Euphoria.

Becoming a cop was not the obvious choice for Anakin. It was, in fact, far from it. 

As a kid, he had an idolization of his father, who’d been absent for as long as he could remember, because Shmi Skywalker had been his number one champion. But that was a long, depressing, and bittersweet story for another day. The point was that, allegedly, Anakin’s father had been an Air Force pilot, and for a while, Anakin had wanted nothing more than to be him when he grew up. 

But kids outgrow things quickly, like ignorance to the fact that this mysterious man that was supposedly still stationed in Iraq had never written Anakin or Shmi. Not once. 

But he’d still loved the idea of flight. So after about age nine, when he started to put the pieces of his far-from-nuclear family tree together and decided he’d rather serve time than the country, he decided Air Force wasn’t for him, but maybe there was something in being a regular pilot. But that always felt self-indulgent to him. He wasn’t _actually_ helping anyone but the boring businessmen he’d be shuttling between major cities. And, more importantly, it sounded _boring._

When he was fifteen and still set on flight, though a bit more reluctant, he started working at Watto’s shop, just to help his mom make ends meet. Watto was an asshole and barely lifted a finger himself, but he let Anakin pick the music and paid him a dollar over minimum wage, so there were worse jobs to have. 

What was revolutionary, though, was that Anakin learned how exceptional he was at fixing cars. Maybe it was just a simple job in the first place, a matter of _this pipe connects this_ and _these wires should never touch_ but Anakin found himself not only succeeding at the work, but enjoying it. Despite the fact that it was terribly hot in the shop and all the people who came in to get their cars fixed treated him like shit, it was something he found himself liking. And, on the off chance some kid at school busted a tire or killed their battery, it was a great way for Anakin to overcharge his peers and make a quick $50. 

If things had worked out differently, Anakin would probably still be working at Watto’s shop presently. Maybe even be in line to take over for him once the old man finally croaked. But as so often happens, life did not go according to plan. 

Sebulba was from Tatooine, too. Anakin didn’t know when his family had moved there, but for as long as Anakin could remember, Sebulba was a staple of the sandy town. More specifically, he remembered his mother strictly telling him to not hang around with that crowd. And, because it was one of the few direct orders she had ever given him, Anakin listened. But in a town as small as Tatooine, people can’t really be avoided. Especially if you work at the only mechanic for 50 miles. 

Sebulba was a short guy, who walked with a strange gait that Anakin could never quite pin down. Either his feet were always turned out a little too much or he leaned on his left leg a bit more than his right. But nobody would ever bring that up, because wherever he did walk, a pack of lackeys would follow. The group shifted with the years, sometimes filled with older men who looked more Sebulba’s age, sometimes with kids that Anakin recognized from school. But always with purpose and a threat in their eye. 

He knew that Sebulba and his crew liked street racing, much to the protest of the extremely resigned police department. That didn’t stop them, though. If anything, it only egged them on further. They were frequently in Watto’s shop for tire changes, oil changes, and paint fixes. Anakin would roll his eyes at the need for someone else to do such a simple task, but it meant more money in his pocket, so who was he to complain?

It wasn’t until the summer before his senior year that Sebulba actually deigned to speak to him. The man had come with some of his usual crew to drop off a car, different than the one they’d dropped off last week, and Anakin had blown a low whistle at the beauty that was now parked in the garage. A burnt orange El Camino was still rumbling as the four men stepped out of the doors, and the one leaving the driver’s seat tossed Anakin the keys. 

Anakin knew better than to say anything. He was supposed to drive the car to the lot behind the garage while the owners met Watto at the desk to discuss payment. His look must have said it all, though, because as the three goons walked over to the reception area, Sebulba hung back and stared down Anakin, who was taking his time to actually get in the car. 

Something like this was a treat. Anakin shared a second-hand mini-van with his mom, with doors that were supposed to be automatic but you had to manually open them anyway. Most of the people in this town were in similar boats, with practical and boring cars. Anakin didn’t even know where Sebulba had found this beauty, but honestly? He didn’t care. 

“You actually know anything about cars, kid?” Sebulba’s patronizing voice rang from behind him. He knew that no matter what he said, he was about to be the butt of a joke. For ignorance or poverty or just on the basis of being in a service industry.

“Well, you spend so long working on them, you pick up a thing or two.” It sounded like something out of a movie, even as it left Anakin’s mouth. And not in a cool, badass way like he’d hoped. No, it sounded like a 17-year-old kid _trying_ to sound like he was a tough guy in a movie. 

So it wasn’t a shock when Sebulba laughed. It wasn’t a kind thing, and it definitely hurt Anakin’s pride a touch, but he couldn’t pretend like he wouldn’t have the same reaction if someone he knew said the same thing. So he just bent his head down and went to open the door. 

Just as he pulled the handle and got the door open an inch, Sebubla’s hands came from behind him and shut it again. This close, Anakin was keenly aware of how absurdly _long_ the man’s arms were. Maybe that was part of the reason everything about him looked so _off._

“You’re funny,” Sebulba said in a way that made Anakin think it wasn’t a compliment, “and you seem like the kind of kid that doesn’t want to be stuck in this trash heap forever.”

Honestly? Anakin didn’t even know what he wanted. He liked the idea of taking over for Watto if the old man would let him, but he’d never loved Tatooine. Though, it wasn’t like he actually had anything to compare it to. It was a lot to think about before lunch. 

“What does it matter?” Anakin knew better than to get physical with a customer, but Sebulba was a creep and he wanted to at least drive the Camino once before having to turn its insides out and hand it back over. So he compromised with himself and just pulled the door open extra hard, causing Sebubla’s arm to shoot back. 

The man didn’t seem phased, though. He just smirked and crossed his too-long arms. “It is a nice car. You gotta admit that.”

Anakin didn’t have to admit anything, but he still found himself saying, “yeah, it is,” with a bit of wistful thinking. This was the kind of car he would only ever dream about. Nothing this extravagantly unnecessary would ever grace the Skywalker driveway. 

Sebulba quickly picked up on his hesitation and rested an arm against the roof as Anakin climbed into the driver’s seat. “We’re getting her fixed up because she’s going in the pot this weekend,” he bragged, “A bunch of us are racing for it on Friday down by Mos Eisley. I’m sure there’s room for one more if you’re feeling lucky.”

These races weren’t a secret. You could hear them all throughout Tatooine every Friday night. Anakin had friends who made a whole event out of going to them, getting to live some rebel fantasy of leather jackets and vintage cars and beer in bottles instead of cans. Anakin had never gone. Never felt it was worth dealing with all the assholes who would also be in attendance just to see some mediocre cars driving 20 above the speed limit. 

Still. The car was _really_ nice, and the idea of being a driver instead of a spectator was shiny and new. 

“You’d let me race for it?” He asked, about to pinch himself to make sure he was actually conscious. 

“Why not?” Sebulba shrugged, happy that his bait had worked like a charm, “we need some fresh blood in the pool. I’m tired of winning against the same ten guys over and over,” he slapped the roof twice before turning to meet the rest of his posse at the desk. Lacklusterly, he called over his shoulder, “but, uh, it’s bring your own ride. So good luck with that,” before half-limping out of the garage. 

* * *

Anakin had never stolen a car before. But he’d seen movies so he got the idea. Besides, he wasn’t really stealing. More like borrowing and then secretly returning. 

(He knew this was the rationale that dumb kids in movies used to justify their stealing, but he tried not to think about that.)

The good thing about working at Watto’s was that he already had the keys to more cars than he could ever need. The bad part was that said keys were kept in a safe in Watto’s office, just in case someone like Anakin got any ideas. You know, like the one he got. 

But Watto was lazy, and the 4-digit code for the safe took only 2 guesses. 2580. Straight down the keypad. 

Anakin had to use his phone flashlight to make out the keys in the dark, but once he found one he deemed worthy, he quickly snatched it and shut the safe behind him. Here's to hoping the owner of the yellow and gray Pontiac wouldn’t be at the race that night. 

Even though nobody else was in the shop at this hour, Anakin still found himself stepping lightly. Even if the security cameras in the corners worked, Watto would never actually check them, but he couldn’t stop himself from thinking that the old man was behind every corner or asleep in every car. 

Finally, he made it to the Pontiac, which was set to be picked up next week, but Anakin had finished working on it early because he’d been so enamored by it. Jabba, one of the old-money land developers in town, was the owner, though Anakin rarely saw it on the streets. Still, he couldn’t complain when it was here for him to use. Plus, Jabba had always been an asshole whenever he stopped by, so he felt very little guilt over grand theft auto from him.

It shouldn’t have felt so right, turning the car out of the lot and onto the abandoned Tatooine streets. It was never busy in the daytime, and at night it was all but deserted. Still, Anakin kept well below the speed limit until he reached the edge of the town. 

Mos Eisley was the scarcely used rest stop about 20 miles outside the town’s border, with a little gift shop that was seemingly never open and a public bathroom you couldn’t pay Anakin to enter. Even if the road wasn’t just one straight line that Anakin knew like the back of his own hand, it would’ve been hard to miss with all the people gathered around. Cars had been pulled off the side of the road into the cool desert, facing inwards and causing their high beams to act as spotlights for the main event. 

There were about 7 cars lined up in two columns, nice cars that surely didn’t belong to their owners. At the front of the pack was Sebulba, who stepped out of the Camino as Anakin pulled up, his knuckles white against the stolen Pontiac’s wheel. _What was he thinking?_

“Hey, kid. You made it.” Sebulba had never been this nice to him before. He’d never heard of him being this nice to _anyone,_ to be quite honest. It was a trap, definitely. But for what, Anakin still wasn’t sure yet. 

“Big crowd,” Anakin mumbled in response, leaving the Pontiac rumbling as he stepped out onto the street. Among the people sitting on the hoods of cars and beds of trucks, Anakin spotted a handful of faces he recognized from class. Nervously, he waved, only to receive a cheer in return. 

“Not getting antsy, are you?” Sebulba asked, no actual empathy in his voice. He wanted Anakin to be scared. He wanted it all to get to him. Forget fresh blood, Anakin was chum in the water. 

“No,” he said, putting on a brave face, “why? Am I supposed to be?”

Sebulba laughed, clapped Anakin on the shoulder once, and pulled open the Pontiac’s door for him to climb back in. “Nice car. Sure hope nothing bad happens to it.” With that, he went back to his car, and Anakin watched as a woman walked to the middle of the road, a red bandana in her hand to use as a flag. 

If he was smart, this would be the time when he shifted his car into reverse and bowed out before anything bad could happen. That was the kind of thing his mother had raised him to do. 

But oh god, was he stupid. 

The next fifteen minutes passed in a blur. From the car, he heard the woman explain the course and the prize, then do a long and drawn-out performance of raising the make-shift flag above her head in preparation for the drop. During this time, Anakin thought of all the reasons that he shouldn’t be doing this. The danger, the fact that he could lose his job, the way that everyone watching seemed to be itching to see him fail. 

But then he thought about how it was the middle of the night and he didn’t feel tired in the slightest. He thought about the tight coils of anticipation that were sitting in his stomach. He realized this was probably the closest he was ever going to get to flying. 

When the red bandana hit the ground, Anakin Skywalker took off like a storm. 

The roads were narrow, meant for only two lanes of traffic, so it took fancy maneuvering to weave between the other cars in order to make his way up to the front. Maneuvering that seemed to come to Anakin like second nature. 

He honestly didn’t understand how he was as calm as he was. He knew how to drive, yes. Maybe even well. But the closest he’d ever gotten to traveling at this speed was Mario Kart. It shouldn’t have been as easy as it was. 

But, somehow, Anakin blew through the competition. He wound his way through the other cars, easily climbing up next to Sebulba himself before the halfway point. The older man didn’t even look over, he just had a deadly focus on the road in front of him. One that Anakin tried to mimic as best he could. After all, this was what these people acted like, right?

In the end, he lost. Though, that’s only if you count coming in second place your first time as losing. Which… Anakin did. But there was also a win in his books. The exhilaration that he’d experienced, the way his hands were still shaking with adrenaline as he stepped out of the car. Maybe he’d lost the first round, but there would be more. 

“So,” he addressed Sebulba after the man had made a show of un-humbly accepting the keys to the Camino and the crowds had quieted down, “when’s the next race?”

* * *

The Chancellor was not a very outspoken man. He kept all his opinions incredibly close to his chest, guarded and calculating for the next move in the elaborate chess match he seemed to be playing with only himself. This was what Anakin had learned after months of deep undercover. 

This was _all_ Anakin had learned. 

It frustrated him sometimes, how he could spend hours with the man driving him from place to place, only to realize he’d never learned anything. Nothing that mattered, at least. Anakin could speak for hours on account of the man’s humble musings about the weather or the animals that they would pass or the music that hummed from the speakers. 

The Chancellor liked classical, Anakin had learned. It shouldn’t have been a tough guess, considering his age and affinity for the finer things in life. If he was in a particularly good mood, though, he would request opera. _Pagliacci_ was his favorite, and the only reason Anakin hadn’t grown tired of hearing about it was because it meant he at least had _one_ intelligent thing to talk about if Padme ever decided to hold a dinner party with some of her higher-class acquaintances. 

Anakin was waiting for the day when the Bail, a family friend of the Amidalas and the senators from the nearby state of Alderaan, came over for dinner again, just so Anakin had a chance to flaunt big words like _Comedia del Arte_ and _coloratura_. 

That particular day, Anakin looked into the rear-view mirror and caught sight of the Chancellor humming along to one of the Italian songs as he flipped through the newspaper that Anakin had picked up on his way over. He didn’t drive the Chancellor every day. Barely more than once a week, in truth. There was a cycle of roughly five drivers, never called on a regular schedule or with seemingly any rhyme or reason at all. Privately, Anakin didn’t think it had anything to do with some kind of tactical strategy, but just who the Chancellor felt like seeing that day. 

He’d met some of the other drivers in passing, had had drinks with one of them, and there didn’t seem to be any connecting thread that he could pull and actually follow anywhere. Hera was a mother of two who was never less than five minutes early. Carth was some tough guy type who’d been with the Republic for longer than anyone else Anakin knew. Neither seemed particularly similar in any way, except that they were loyal. But, he supposed, that meant there was a grand slew of options for the type of conversation you could choose to have, if you were the one picking the driver.

“Vader,” the Chancellor started, using the codename Anakin had been bestowed before he’d ever set foot in any of their bases of operation. It all seemed a bit silly to Anakin, especially because half the people he knew didn’t even use them, but maybe that was just the test of it all. 

“Yeah?” Anakin asked, not taking his eyes off the road. If this was a test, he wasn’t going to fail it now. 

“What do you know about our friend Hondo?”

More than he should. Obi-Wan had sent him word that they’d brought him in on attempted kidnapping charges the day before, and that he was currently being interrogated, where they would float out the threat of a sentence unless he testified. All according to plan. This conversation, however, was _not._

“I told Rex to let him go a few days ago,” Anakin replied coolly, “we weren’t getting anywhere with him and sometimes you just have to cut your losses and realize that guys like him are just wastes of space.” Then, to test his luck, “why? Did something happen?”

He wasn’t looking at the Chancellor, but the hair on the back of his neck stood at attention from his undeniable scrutinization. “I’ve just received word that he’s been brought in by the CCPD on charges for kidnapping.”

Anakin couldn’t discern the emotion coloring his voice. He was notoriously hard to read, after all. “Well, that’s not the worst thing, right? Serves him right for not cooperating. Maybe if he’d-”

He heard the shut of the newspaper, and instantly took it as a cue to shut up. Fuck _._ Had he oversold it? He believed what he was saying, after all. But he’d always been told he got lost in the emotion of a case. _Fuck._

“Perhaps your fondness for Ahsoka has clouded your ability to see the big picture,” the Chancellor looked out the tinted windows, “nobody outside of our organization knew about the attempt. Ahsoka told me several times that nobody was near her when it happened, so it couldn’t be a citizen reporting it in. That means we have a mole somewhere among our ranks.”

Anakin strengthened his grip against the wheel but fought to keep his face neutral. There was no reason to suspect him. He’d been so _careful._

“What do you want me to do about it?” It’s the most neutral response he could come up with without sounding like a total dimwit. 

There was the sound of the paper opening back up in the Chancellor’s lap before the curt, “deal with it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very tangentially related but I'm still thinking about how Obi-Wan said his allegiance was to the REPUBLIC before he said it was to the Jedi, the Light Side, or Good. Anyway....


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Anakin learns about mentorship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shows up 5 months late with coffee* yo

Qui-Gon Jinn was a weird guy, to put it nicely. When Anakin was still in middle school, he was the guy that the principal called in to give lectures to the students about the importance of safety. And he was great at talking to kids, Anakin had to give him credit for that. Where other adults fall apart under the pressure of hundreds of snotty little thirteen-year-olds blowing raspberries every time you took a step, Qui-Gon handled it like a champ. 

He didn’t show up in uniform, for one. Anakin got the impression that the middle school’s staff was also surprised by this, at least the first time he came around, because who calls to set up an assembly with your local police captain and he shows up in a Hawaiian shirt and Birkenstocks? But that was Qui-Gon, pulling up to the gymnasium at 8:10 A.M. on the dot, a weird little puppet that was lovingly labeled “Jar-Jar” in one hand, and an iced coffee that Anakin suspected had at least two shots of tequila mixed in in the other, ready to teach everyone about the importance of stranger danger. 

Sometimes, Anakin wondered if the issue was just that they couldn’t find anyone else. After all, the town was small and the police department was even smaller. But, after he’d joined the force, he’d learned that that was hardly the case at all. Qui-Gon, as it turned out, was actually the one who’d orchestrated the whole thing. He was the one who’d contacted the principal, he was the one who told her that he wanted the kids to know more about how to stay safe, and he was the one that always volunteered to go back year after year. 

Anakin had taken assembly with Captain Qui-Gon for granted as a kid. Because, for all his weird eccentricities and ponytail that had seemed absolutely foreign to Anakin, at the end of every single one of the assemblies, he would ask the school staff to leave the gym so that he could have a q&a with the kids where they weren’t worried about getting detention. And, because he was the captain and Tatooine was only so big that they were all neighbors anyway, the teachers humored him. One by one, they would file out the doors and as soon as they left, Qui-Gon would turn around and say, “as an officer, I cannot disregard any crimes committed. However, I’m going to turn around and you may yell out your questions, whatever they are, and as long as I can’t identify you, we’ll call it okay.”

Not the approach Anakin imagined the actual taxpayers were hoping for, but it worked nonetheless. 

Because, every year, without fail, this was the portion that actually educated kids. After the initial fear of this all being an elaborate trick, questions that were usually reserved for panicked Google searches were flung out, to which Qui-Gon always had an answer. 

“Why do I have to be 21 to drink?” A bold seventh grader would yell. 

“That’s a great question,” Qui-Gon would reply, his hands on his hips and his back to the audience, “especially because in some places it’s much lower than that. But here you have to be 21 because your small brains are still growing, and even a Mike’s Hard Lemonade can really mess that up.”

“Is it true that I can’t send nudes?” A girl in the back would call out before she and her friends would dissolve into a fit of giggles. 

“When you’re a legal adult, which means you’re over the age of 18, you’re allowed to do whatever you want with your body, and nobody should make you feel ashamed for that. But, as of right now, you guys are still kids, and even having pictures like that is a crime. But it’s for your safety, because sometimes there are really bad people out there who’ll lie and say that they’re your age so that you’ll send them those pictures. This law is more to hurt them than you.”

And so on and so forth. 

After a few years of him coming by, the same puppet and travel mug that read “I got abducted by aliens in the summer of ‘99 and all I got was this stupid mug” always with him, he became almost like a local legend. Or, more accurately, an only semi-rare cryptid. Kids began going as him for Halloween, any of his former lecturees working at the local Dunkin’ would always slip him a free donut, and there were at least three separate years where kids campaigned to have him speak at the high school graduation, to which he happily obliged. 

For all his weirdness, Captain Qui-Gon Jinn successfully helped make the rising generation of Tatooine citizens smarter, more law-abiding people. Which meant that there were fewer kids showing up at his station under charges of being stupid. 

Which meant it was  _ really _ embarrassing when Anakin  _ did _ get brought in, because he felt like he was among the select few that had actually failed this town hero. 

One of the street races had gotten a bit too close to town, and a handful of people had complained about the noise, so Qui-Gon had done his job and sent some of the guys to round up whoever was stupid enough to not scatter when the police told them to. And, unluckily for Anakin, he had always been that kind of stupid. 

It was late, almost 3 A.M., and the only other person out of uniform was a guy fast asleep in the holding cell. They’d sat Anakin down at a desk littered with plants and wood carvings, and told him to sit still until his mom came.

(That was the other thing he felt terrible about: having to wake up his mom. He’d rather do time.)

You can imagine his shock when he was sitting, absently counting down the seconds until his mom showed up and chewed him out more than any officer or judge ever could, when a pile of folders dropped down on the seat across the desk from him, causing him to almost jump out of his own skin. Standing above him, with a smile that seemed to know more than he was ever going to say, was Qui-Gon in full uniform. 

Anakin had seen him like this in passing, either on TV giving a public address or at some crime scene Anakin happened to pass, but he’d never been this close, this tangible. Suddenly, he was no longer Middle School Captain Qui-Gon, who students worshipped, but a real-life police captain who was about to put an actual crime on Anakin’s record. 

“You’re Shmi’s kid, aren’t you?” Qui-Gon said, sitting down and flipping open the manila folder. 

“Uh, yeah?” Anakin replied, still a mixture of starstruck and scared shitless. “That’s my mom.” Then, after a second of more critical thinking, “How do you know my mom?”

Qui-Gon snorted a laugh at this, thumbing through the files and looking for something that he wasn’t letting on, “I see her at the farmer’s market every Thursday. That woman is serious about her bell peppers.”

She got them for Anakin. They had stuffed peppers every other week. It was a thing. 

“Aren’t you the captain?” Anakin asked, trying to break the awkward and sketchy silence of a police station at 3 in the morning, “aren’t you supposed to, like, have an office or something?”

“I prefer to be closer to my squad,” Qui-Gon hummed before tapping a little carved bear that was sort of near Anakin’s forearm, “Besides, who will ask me about my carvings if I don’t have them out on the main floor for display?”

“So tell me about your carvings?” Anakin tried. 

Shutting the folder entirely, Qui-Gon beamed, “what do you want to know?”

He kept Anakin in steady company for the next hour, working to make Anakin almost forget that he was about to be grounded for the rest of his life, until the doors swung open and a very tired, very visibly upset Shmi Skywalker walked in, still in her pajamas. 

As soon as she entered, the entire energy of the room shifted. It abruptly went from an unfamiliar but still kind room to wired and ready to shock. Anakin could feel his heart beating in his chest, his throat, his stomach, his everywhere. Without a word, Qui-Gon handed him the carved mouse he’d been detailing the process of making and got up to greet Shmi. Gone was the kind, laid-back man who Anakin hadn’t even been able to see as a cop. Now, there was only Captain Jinn. 

He led Shmi into another room, instructing one of the officers to keep an eye on Anakin as they went, and suddenly all he could find himself doing was desperately trying to melt into his seat. Maybe spontaneously combust. Anything to not be here anymore. 

They must’ve been gone for over twenty minutes, during which Anakin spent the whole time imagining every worst-case scenario. 

They were going to send him to jail, or worse he’d have to go into witness protection program, or worse Shmi would disconnect his Xbox. 

When they finally came back out, both with an expression that Anakin could only describe as the “adult face”, and each holding a styrofoam cup of break-room coffee, Anakin sat as straight as he could and tried to give the impression of innocence. 

“Technically,” Qui-Gon said before taking a quick sip, “you weren’t breaking anything but the speed limit. So we’ll have to give you a ticket with a fine–”

“Which you will pay for yourself,” Shmi pitched in. 

“Of course,” Qui-Gon nodded. “And, after speaking with your mother, we think it would be best if you assist in some community outreach programs.”

“What?” Anakin asked, still trying to process that he wasn’t going to be picked up by an armored car and taken to the nearest max-security prison. 

“He means you’re going to be doing some community service here,” Shmi crossed her arms, “And you’re not getting the keys for a year.”

“But–” 

“No buts!” She frowned. “We can discuss again  _ after _ you start using all this free time you seem to have to raise your grades.”

Somehow, that was the most embarrassing part of all of this. 

When they left, Anakin felt like he might as well have been dragged out by his ears. He stuffed his hands as deep into his hoodie’s pockets as they would go and drew the hood to cover his face as much as possible. Without a doubt, he knew he’d never live this down. 

And yet, when he turned to close the door on their way out, Qui-Gon waved him goodbye. 

Since then, Captain Jinn remained a steady fixture in Anakin’s life. The first day Anakin showed up for his community service –which turned out to mean little more than being an unpaid intern for the entire department every weekend– Qui-Gon had made him go around and awkwardly shake hands with the six beat cops and four detectives that worked the day shift, and instructed Anakin to write down their coffee order and never forget it. 

After the second month, he’d managed to graduate from coffee boy to supervised assistant when recording evidence. Which didn’t sound entirely amusing, but that was the same month that Detective Quinlan Vos from the Coruscant City Police Department stopped in to say hi to his old boss, Qui-Gon. 

With utter fixation, Anakin had listened to everything Vos had to say. People left Tatooine, of course, but those ranks of deserters were few and dwindling. So for Vos to come back with stories of this mysterious outside world, well, it was the most alive that Anakin had felt since he’d stopped driving. 

It helped that Vos was fun to listen to. Not necessarily a great storyteller, as he would constantly find himself going off on tangents, but enthralling nonetheless. And he was young, younger than any of the cops at the Tatooine branch. Unlike everyone here, Quinlan was full of loud bursts of laughter, rough edges, and stories of excitement. Shootouts and fistfights and taking down entire drug cartels. 

Anakin wanted so desperately to be him when he grew up. 

So, much to the shock of literally  _ everyone _ at his high school, as soon as graduation was over and done with and they’d thrown their caps into the air, Anakin did not follow in his peers footsteps and get whisked off to college, nor did he follow the expected path of working for Watto full time, but rather he disappeared into the Police Academy, and 17 weeks later emerged as Officer Skywalker. 

His mother had cried, and maybe he’d cried a little bit, too. 

A handful of other kids from his school had done the same, and there was a deep sense of pleasure when they all arrived at the station the first day on the job, and Anakin was able to say hello to each of his new coworkers individually, while everyone else was left with awkward icebreakers and stiff introductions. 

It wasn’t a competition, but he did have a sense of victory. 

Six years. Anakin stayed in Tatooine for another six years, and somehow he stayed happy for most of that time. 

Once he could afford his own place, he moved out and got one, still coming back to visit Shmi every other weekend for dinner, and sometimes there would also be her new boyfriend Cliegg, who seemed to actually treat her with respect, and sometimes he would bring over his son Owen, if he wasn’t away at school. 

Vos came to visit every once in a while, and every time he did, he would rub his hands through Anakin’s hair as if he was still some kid. Then he’d relay his stories of Coruscant and he’d update Qui-Gon on any of the other people they mutually knew and it would be great and life would be great. 

And then the Tusken Raider incident. 

A period that Anakin didn’t like to dwell on. At all. 

A lot happened that year. 

A lot of things that hung heavy on Anakin ever since. 

Like the new gravestone outside his childhood home, which he, Cliegg, and Owen made sure always had fresh flowers. 

Like the incident out by Mos Eisley that Anakin probably could’ve handled better, if he was being honest. 

Two weeks after everything had gone down, Qui-Gon pulled him aside to the desk he’d once sat him in as a kid, and simply said, “I think you need to transfer.”

That had crushed Anakin. Really. Because he’d just lost his mother in such a horrific way, and now the man who had grown to become almost like a father to him had told him to leave. That he didn’t want him. That he wasn’t good enough. 

Anakin already had one father that had left. He didn’t want another. 

“I’m no–”

“Not for me. For you, son,” Qui-Gon put a hand on his shoulder then, a comforting weight. “You’re very close to this situation.”

“We  _ know _ who did it!” Anakin growled, full of sudden hatred for this bureaucratic lingo. Technically, the investigation was still open. Technically, there were no charges, yet. But Anakin  _ knew.  _ He didn’t need a lawyer and a judge and a jury to tell him what he could see with his own eyes. 

“This is what I’m talking about,” Qui-Gon said cooly, “I think that your service would be best used somewhere else.”

“You can’t–” Anakin sputtered, “You can’t just… just throw me away! I’ve been here for almost eight years! I–”

“Don’t you want to see at least a bit more of the world?” Qui-Gon asked, still calm, “Don’t you want to leave Tatooine before you die?”

Yes? Yes. Of course. Of course Anakin wanted to travel and maybe move and see somewhere else. But he still had time. He still had the rest of his life to do all of that. And Shmi… She’d just passed away. If he left now, it would just be in poor taste. 

“Quinlan informed me,” Qui-Gon said, not bothering to wait for Anakinn’s response as he pulled out a file and handed it to the detective, “that my old partner is currently working solo.” 

Opening the folder, Anakin was greeted with a picture and a handful of stats. Obi-Wan Kenobi. Coruscant City Police Department. Detective. 30 cases closed last year alone. 

“He’s good,” Anakin commented absently. 

“Incredible.”

“Seems kind of young to have been your partner, if I’m honest.”

At that, Qui-Gon grabbed the folder out of Anakin’s hands, snapping it closed. “Don’t be.” Then, kinder, “I’ve already put in a transfer request to the Coruscant Captain. He’s a good guy, mentored me way back in the day. You’d like him.”

“Vos told me about him. The short guy?”

“Captain Yoda.”

“Vos says he’s kind of a freak.”

“Vos also only fishes with a spear,” Qui-Gon hummed, “He’s probably not the best judge of what qualifies as eclectic behavior.”

Anakin wanted to point out that Qui-Gon was far from a prime example of mundanity, too, but he bit his tongue. Even if Qui-Gon did continue to fill out his paperwork with a pen that read  **Get Better Soon, Grandma!** in hot pink calligraphy on the side. 

“Captain…” Anakin sighed, already resigning himself to looking into moving services when he got home. Cliegg and Shmi had been living together for a bit. Whatever Anakin didn’t want to take, he figured Cliegg and maybe his son Owen would be happy to hold onto for him. Cheaper than renting out a storage unit. “I don’t think I’m really made for the city.”

Qui-Gon looked up again, then put a firm hand on Anakin’s shoulder, squeezing it softly. 

“I disagree, son. I think you and your thick skin will fit right in there.”

* * *

  
  


Rex nodded as Anakin descended the steps into the Rep base, his heavy boots falling hard on the stone, echoing throughout the cavernous tunnel. Anakin worked with him more often than most, down here. As the Chancellor’s driver and occasional muscle, it was more important for Anakin to know who came and left the base than others, and Rex was constantly put on camera duty. 

It seemed an incredibly dull thing, to Anakin, to sit quietly and look at screens all day, but he supposed there were worse jobs. After all, he was the one who was in charge of tying up loose threads. One could argue that  _ that _ was the worse thing. 

Besides, Rex seemed to enjoy it. He and Echo, the man who ran the camera shifts that Rex didn’t have, kept the door open, usually, and were always happy to stop and chat with whoever passed by. Plus, Rex had been known to look the other way if Ahsoka slipped into the security room and messed around with the controls for the camera, pointing and zooming in on random people. It was something to do, Anakin supposed. 

But today, Rex was not in front of the cameras. He was waiting at the base of the stairs, then fell into line with Anakin as he began walking down the dark hall. The Chancellor had told Anakin as he held the door open for the old man that Rex would be helping him conduct his pseudo-investigation, as he was one of the two people with eyes on everyone. Anakin had accepted gladly. No matter who they were working for, Rex was a good man. There were few others he’d rather have as a number two. 

“You look like you slept well,” Rex commented, his accent thick with exhaustion. He and the handful of his brothers that also dotted the Rep’s roster had immigrated from New Zealand a few years ago, all quickly swept into the Rep’s ranks with promises of mostly stable incomes and a place to call home. Honestly? Anakin couldn’t blame him. 

“You sound like you haven’t slept in a week,” Anakin laughed, making a beeline for the kitchen and the coffee pot it housed. Kix always put a fresh pot on at eight, and then another one at eleven. He was thoughtful, that way. Then again, that could just be his boredom jumping out. He was the in house medic, one of Rex’s brothers, and on days that he wasn’t busy bandaging someone up or restocking his shelves, he made himself busy with the more mundane tasks that needed doing. 

As Anakin and Rex peeled into the kitchen area –more of a counter, microwave, and fridge with a table nearby– the handful of people who’d been lingering quickly dispersed, their steady conversation quickly dissolving into hushed whispers. 

Anakin had never been overly friendly with many of the people here, but he didn’t think he’d deserved that. 

“What’s with them?” He asked, tilting his head to the scattering gossipers as he pulled out the coffee pot and poured the lukewarm drink into a mug. 

“Nothing,” Rex shrugged, leaning against the countertop and scrolling through his phone absently, “they probably are scared you’re gonna pull off their noses next.”

Anakin set down the pot, lifting the mug to his lips. “What?”

“This place echoes a lot,” Rex chuckled, “the other night when you were wailing on Hondo? It wasn’t subtle.”

“I had to–”

“No, I know that,” Rex nodded along, “I’d do the same thing if I’d been the one who got my hands on him first after what he did to ‘Soka. Doesn’t mean that half the guys here aren’t scared shitless of you now,” he tapped his forehead with a wink, “not a bad thing, though, considering what we’re doing.”

Anakin mulled it over for a second. He wasn’t exactly there to make a name for himself. Much less one that would encourage people to  _ not _ talk to him, to not befriend him, to not be willing to see his side of this once everything turned sideways. But, for now, that could be a problem for the backburner. Instead, Anakin settled on asking, “so where is the goober?”

“Who, Ahsoka?” Rex asked. When Anakin nodded, he shrugged. “I don’t know. She could be anywhere by now. She showed up a few hours ago. Didn’t look great. I don’t think she likes that they brought Hondo in for questioning.”

Anakin frowned at that. Why wouldn’t she like that? It meant that there’d been consequences for what he’d done to her. It meant that he would think twice before trying to mess with her again. She was  _ safer _ because of it. What did she have to be upset over?

As Anakin stood there stewing, Rex let out a sigh. “I suppose you want to go hunt her down and talk to her?” Anakin nodded, and Rex nodded knowingly. “Yeah, I figured. I’ll round up some suspects and we’ll deal with them later. Go find the kid.”

As he split off, trying to stay casual as he approached Wolf and his guys, Anakin pushed off the counter and began the hunt for Ahsoka.

It was a large place, with enough nooks and crannies to match the back-alley dealings the Reps partook in. But Anakinn had been with them for long enough to be acquainted with the layout, and he’d had Ahsoka at his wing to know where she did and didn’t like to go. She liked high places, was always one of those kids who would choose to walk on a ledge instead of the beaten path. That carefree willingness to risk a little more than necessary for a cheap thrill was present in her every day. She hated tight places, didn’t do well with being cooped up. She said it reminded her too much of the back of a cop car. 

Eventually, he found her in one of the storage rooms. She was perched high on a tower of boxes, her backpack close by, and half heartedly scrolling through her phone. There was something unsettling about her history textbook peeking out of her bag, which was stashed on top of boxes labeled  _ “Scopes – rifles”, “crowbars, pliers, and bolt cutters”,  _ and simply  _ “evidence”. _ It kind of reminded him of the station, only this was entirely the wrong context. 

“Hey, Snips,” he said, hoping to alert her of his presence. She just waved, signalling that she’d known before he’d said anything. When she didn’t look up from her phone, he took that as a cue to come and sit on one of the boxes near her, doing his best to gauge how close he was allowed to be. 

He’d never had any siblings growing up. There was Owen, he supposed, but he’d never really had the time to get to know him. And, honestly, at this point it was far too late. There was too much history crammed between him and the Lars family, despite knowing each other for such a short time. 

But as a little kid? Anakin had only had Shmi. He’d never been wonderful with kids, but even that didn’t quite encapsulate how he and Ahsoka worked together. 

She was a sister to him, a heartbreaking truth that he had to remind himself to compartmentalize every time he checked back in with Obi-Wan. He’d spent countless nights up at the little table in the kitchen, hunched over her homework as she explained why he was helping her wrong, even though she’d been the one to ask in the first place. She liked to tail him like a shadow, crossing her arms and attempting to seem bigger than she was whenever he had to interrogate someone. 

Occasionally, she’d even convince him to take the car, usually reserved for the Chancellor and  _ only _ the Chancellor, and bring her through a McDonald’s drive-thru for sprite and nuggets because she’d gotten a good grade back on her test and felt like she deserved it. She sent him stupid memes on the second phone he’d gotten for this assignment, and then got mad at him if he didn’t actually look at them. 

He sat on one of the boxes a level beneath her, pulling out his phone and letting the silence settle until she was ready to break it herself. 

“Don’t you have a job to do?” She said, finally. She didn’t look up, though. Didn’t release any of the tension buzzing between her shoulders. 

“Yeah,” he nodded a bit, trying to keep his voice light and airy, “Just wanted to see if you wanted to help. Rex’s working it with me, too.”

“I think that’s enough, then,” she grumbled, pulling a loose strand of bleach-white hair taunt in front of her face before wrapping it around her pointer finger. Then, after a moment of reflection and maybe regret for her snappish tone, “what'd’ya need me for?”

Anakin paused for a moment, considered his words carefully. Tried to think about what Padme would guide him towards doing. She had a younger sister, one she was still incredibly close with. She had to do public assemblies at local middle and elementary schools, where kids would ask her what it’s like to work in state politics and she’d lie and tell them it was a breeze. She knew how to talk to kids. Why had Anakin never asked her for advice?

“I needed someone who would actually be able to rough them up a bit, of course,” he settled on, something Padme would  _ never _ have told him to say. Still, Ahsoka let out a laugh, dropping her hardened exterior that much more. 

“You’re such a dork.”

“You’re the one who’s hiding in the storage room like a vampire. Not a particularly cool look, if you ask me.”

“I would  _ never _ ask you for advice on what is or isn’t cool,” she rolled her eyes, setting her phone down, “you still wear flannels and leather jackets.”

“Okay, so we’re critiquing fashion choices?” Anakin guffawed, pinching the tail of one of the braids resting on her shoulder, holding it up as if it was a live stick of platinum dynamite, “I’m not the one with bleached and dyed hair,” he dropped it for emphasis, “ _ box _ -bleached and dyed.”

“Ugh,” she called, grinning despite reaching out to push him away, “at least I have  _ vision. Concepts.  _ You look like you walked off the pages of a Gap catalog. Which, by the way, is a bad thing.”

That was how Anakin got Ahsoka to lower her walls. That was how he managed to pull her from her reclusive  _ I’m a teenager and my issues are my own problem but also I need everyone else to know that I’m going through it right now _ head and into something… well something more productive sounded a bit too positive, considering the situation. But something less dangerous. Because Anakin had been there, and he’d been stubborn and closed-off, and maybe he still was. But at least he could encourage her to not be. 

When he left the storage room, Ahsoka padded behind him, still avoiding eye contact as if the grown criminals surrounding her were going to bully her for something so far out of her control, but Anakin supposed that was what happened when you were a high schooler. You treat the world like the halls of that glorified prison. 

So it was a relief when, upon their arrival to one of the more secluded rooms that Rex had gathered a handful of people, New Zealander looked Ahsoka up and down before giving her a simple, “so you’re the good cop or the bad cop?”. 

When, in response, Ahsoka just mirrored his movement and replied “ew, neither,” Rex let out a barking laugh before mussing a hand through her hair, which she protested but with a smile, and Anakin felt relief. 

Because this was step one. Making the conscious effort to find them, to bring them from their hiding place, a storage room or a street race. Anakin had accidentally been given a mentor who had looked out for him in that way. The least he could do was carry on that legacy and do his best to make sure she turned out better than he did. Much better, if he was being truly hopeful. 

“Alright,” he said to Rex, cracking his knuckles with a bit more drama than was honestly necessary, “who’s first?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, anyway, sorry I took a surprise break. Turns out: college keeps a bitch busy! Manic episodes, several hair color changes, and a lot more RuPaul's Drag Race than I think anyone anticipated. 
> 
> Anyway, I thought this chapter would be posted months ago and then it simply wasn't cooperating enough. Yikes! But I'm back home for break, so maybe another chapter coming soon? We'll see. 
> 
> (Also, here's the note I'd written out to go with this chapter:
> 
> Note: I should probably emphasize that Anakin is a BAD role model and a teenage boy at the beginning of this chapter, and Vos is a FLAWED character, who literally was evil for a bit in the comics. Don’t become a police officer for the express purpose of danger and excitement. That shouldn’t be your focus if you’re going into an armed service industry. It’s the same thing with Brooklyn 99. Treating the heavy armorement of the police as a fun and lightweight thing isn’t good in practice. I thought it was worth mentioning. )

**Author's Note:**

> All cops are bastards, and unfortunately, this DOES include Anakin :(


End file.
